Conjecture
by Cheria
Summary: Rygdea does as ordered, because taking action and making things happen is what he does. Spoilers up to chapter 12.


Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XIII, SquareEnix does.

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Rygdea fancies the prospects of futuristic "what ifs," because he knows that once he sets his mind to it it can be done. He takes the intangible and turns it into something tangible, a satisfying product to prove that he has the power. Conjecture doesn't remain a conjecture for long. There's a lot one person can do, and Rygdea is well aware of this -- it's a life lesson he learned from Cid, not necessarily through lessons but from the brigadier's _style_. (He can't speak for his leader's actual fashion sense, the Sanctum is long due for a change in uniform code.)

Before Cid, Rygdea didn't believe in "what ifs." Before Cid, he was constantly frustrated and infuriated with the government. Then he met Cid, and although he was skeptical for a good while, he gradually came to embrace Cid's ideals. It's an ideal he cherishes greatly now, as it coincides with his own wishes; this ideal calms his mind in the way the government or any other part of the military couldn't soothe. It seems so long ago that he practically spat at his present leader, having misdirected his spite when all he saw was Sanctum authority.

Cid is different, and that's a welcome change. Rygdea would follow him to the ends of Cocoon so long as they share that connection. Their connection is an eccentric mix of impersonal and personal relations, intimate with each other and yet not as superior and subordinate. Impersonal because they cooperate for a single goal and sharing a friendly relationship isn't part of the (nonexistent) job description; personal because Rygdea views Cid as a kindred companion regardless.

He's certain that Cid feels the same way, as whimsical as he can be. One might see Cid as an unmoving figure, someone easy to understand, forever a stern yet firm and fair commander who is to be respected without question, but Rygdea knows better. In fact, one of the first things he learned is that Cid is unpredictable when it concerns his temperament. One second he would be making a smile, albeit small; then in the next his lips would be pursed, his brows furrowed in a way that indicated his blatant disapproval or warranted frustration. Cid is moody, and beneath that gallant character is a man who appears to be perpetually unhappy, plagued by an unknown illness Rygdea doesn't think to inquire about out of respect.

He would learn about it later, anyway.

Rygdea himself, on the other hand, is comparatively not as straight-laced, but more liberal. A certain coil in his spirit was unwounded shortly after his meeting with Cid and subsequent recruitment into the Cavalry, and he's been a freer soul since. He smiles more easily these days. He says what he wants. The rest of the military could shove it for all he cares if they don't like his behavior. There's a kind of confidence he carries himself with, the kind that doesn't allow outside judgment to affect his own mentality and goals. And despite the murmurs of disapproval he gets from those people, he's skilled and confident enough that nothing can be done about it. None of it matters, however; Cid seems amused by it.

(As astute as he can be, Rygdea doesn't realize that it's a combination of amusement, as well as envy, on Cid's part. It's not that his perception fails him -- it is difficult to fully understand the man.) Cid's "condition" seems to be better these days. His "condition" isn't nearly as severe as it used to be, as far as Rygdea can judge since the start of this entire l'Cie crisis. Cid is in a finer mood these days, constantly keeping an eye on the group of rebellious l'Cie that the Cavalry has dedicated itself into aiding. Rygdea is only eager to help, mostly to topple the government and fulfill his wish, and partly because this is doing his leader good, if not seemingly making him more anxious along the way.

Eventually he understands. Cid is anxious, ever temperamental and always in an inner state of depression because he desires liberation. Looking back at it, the signs were painfully obvious, but his (former) superior is a shrewd man -- a man, a human. Cid is too good a liar. But Rygdea doesn't mind, and instead sets himself to doing what he does. What if he adheres to Cid's order? Would he be content in death? Certainly it would be a better alternative to facing the incoming mess and taking more than he can take.

Cid's shouldered enough, and thus Rygdea will shoulder their old wish -- no longer their common desire, though he has a hunch that Cid still wants to do what he originally intended to do, no matter the limitations placed on him -- on his own.

-- _shoot me._

So Rygdea shoots him.

But there is no time to mourn the death of a kinsman during battle, and he's then shooting Sanctum soldiers after. He doesn't look back at what remains of his former leader (no doubt a lifeless and limp shell). Not even once, as he leaves the accursed room to again assume that rage he'd abandoned so long ago.


End file.
